


back when the end began, we stood together for the last time

by navaan



Category: Avengers (Comics), Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Angst, Avengers Vol. 5 (2013), Bittersweet, End of the World, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, Fix-It of Sorts, M/M, Possessive Steve, Time Travel, Tragic Romance, not really a fix-it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-26
Updated: 2015-05-26
Packaged: 2018-04-01 10:32:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4016419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/navaan/pseuds/navaan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They meet back at the beginning, and Steve knows there's only the end to look forward to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	back when the end began, we stood together for the last time

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this the weekend after _Avengers v5 #44_ , but it took me a while to make it come together. I suck at fix-its. Is it still a fix it if the world still ends?
> 
> You can also read and comment on Livejournal [here](http://navaan.livejournal.com/199237.html).

It's the end. Suddenly everything falls away. His stomach feels like its turning and he stumbles. It's dark but a lingering yellow light engulfs him and he is momentarily confused. This isn't where he's supposed to be. A second ago he hadn't been here. He stands in the hallway leading to his room. This is his door. This is Avengers Tower. He's home. Down the hall he can hear people talking. There is laughter.

It's like a physical punch to the gut and he takes a staggering step forward, bracing himself with one arm against the wall, not trusting his sense of balance. 

Laughter. They are here. His friends. Avengers. All here. 

He takes a shuddering breath, hiding his face in the crook of his arm. But he can still hear the voices.

When he looks up the yellow light is gone. He's still in the same corridor, knowing this is not where he belongs.

He's here. It's all too much, too cruel.

For five minutes he stares at his hands, young hands, _knows_ these are not the hands he should be looking at. In fact he shouldn't be able to look at anything at all. It's hard to make sense of it, but the feelings and impressions are still there. Anger churning in his gut, the feeling of dread, the knowledge that this is it. Everything phasing out. 

The final incursion swallowing the world whole. The universe taking its last breath. 

White light, his hands and Tony's face vanishing, _stopping_ , ending. The final sign of everything being lost. But suddenly the white, transparent shine mixed with yellow.

That's how he ended up here. In this hallway. Back at the beginning.

Home.

_Perhaps it was all a dream._

But he knows that’s a futile hope at best. Things _never_ end up being so clean or easy. You don’t just watch the world end and wake up to realize it never happened. Not him. Not with the life he leads. He never is that lucky.

Not even by a long shot. 

The disorientation slowly ebbs away. He knows where he is. This is where he belongs. Where he always wanted to be. With his team and friends. 

All that broke apart on him though. Will break apart, he realizes with a pang.

He takes out his phone, lights up the screen with a touch of his fingers and checks the date.

The number is glaring at him like an accusing sign of failure. 

Ultron just happened. The end is only just beginning. None of the players are in place yet. He could stop Tony before he ever even devised any kind of plan, before he even makes the decision to betray Steve.

Anger, like bile rising in his throat. It's all still there under the surface. His hand forms a fist and he hits the wall before he even knows what he's doing, shaking with anger, dread. Why is he here? Why is he back here now? Will he have to go through all of that _again_?

Waking up from the ice he had a whole new world to explore, an exciting future to look forward to. He was making friends and finding his place. What does he have to look forward to now? Betrayal, disappointment and a world that has no future? Can he change any of it?

He spends another few minutes just leaning against the wall listening to the chatter that’s drifting to him from the kitchen, trying to find the courage to go inside and actually look any of them in the eyes and not fall apart. Thor is laughing, a loud booming laugh that echoes down the hall. Carol joins in. Her laughter is clear like the sound of tingling bells and it breaks his heart a little more.

They don't know.

Only Steve does.

When he realizes that he's straining to listen, that he's no longer trying to just forget everything around him and figure out how to cope with the impossible, but is _waiting_ to hear one familiar baritone in particular he pushes himself away from the wall, angrily shaking his head at his own treacherous thoughts. 

It's not right. He can't take it and maybe he won't ever be ready for it. Not this.

His hands ball into fists. He can still feel the blood on his face, smell the scorched ozone in the air and it's just all too much. The screeching sound of metal impacting with metal, armor against armor. The memory is so clearly edged into his being now that he won't ever be able to look at Tony ever again. Traitor, liar, enemy, but still a friend. And he'd been about to crush his skull.

Minutes ago. Lifetimes away. There at the end.

His breathing hitches and suddenly steps resound down the hall. With the agility of his once again lithe and young body he moves back into the darkness, makes his way around easily and reaches one of the side doors that lead to the terrace. 

Fresh air. Wind on his face. Exactly what he needs. Some air. Some more time to get his head straight. Figure this out. Maybe forget. Start over. Form a plan.

He takes a deep breath when the cool air makes breathing easier for him, relief flooding him finally. This feels better.

But he hasn't taken two steps before he notices that he's not the only one out here, freezes as he recognizes the strong shoulders, the frame that's always been a bit lighter than his own, the dark hair... Perhaps he stops breathing. Perhaps his heart misses a beat. But the feeling of relief is still there, mixed with anger and dread. Grows stronger. Ebbs away and back.

He wants to scream.

His hands ball into fists again, his fingernails stinging his palms. The same fists that had been - would be - punching Tony's face bloody and raw. 

He closes his eyes, takes another deep breath. Tries to stay calm.

It's not real. 

It's not real yet.

Hasn't happened yet.

“Steve?” Tony asks, familiar and without hesitation. Friendly. Happy to see him. “Hey? I didn't know you were back. When did you get in?”

He forces his eyes open, forces himself to look at his friend, enemy, betrayer. Traitor to all he once stood for.

“Everything okay?” Tony asks, altogether too aware of Steve's continuing silence. His arms are resting on the railing and he is looking back at Steve over his shoulder with calm blue eyes, no hint of anger or distrust there. He looks good. Better than Steve remembers even. And how is that even possible with his last memories being of perfect, Extremis enhanced Tony? Tony's hair is wet like he has just taken a shower before coming down here. Steve can smell the lingering traces of scented soap and shampoo. There are some red marks on his neck and face like he scrubbed at the skin too hard to get clean.

He looks so good, attractive and clean, as he calmly waits for Steve to speak. Steve could walk up to him and just push him over the railing, one fluid move, watch him fall. Tony wouldn't expect it. Has no reason to expect it yet. Even the lies haven't started yet.

“Hey,” he says slowly and walks closer, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his pants. If they're shaking he doesn't want Tony to see. “What are you doing out here?”

“I needed some fresh air.” Tony finally stops studying him and turns back to look out over the city, presenting the line of his back to Steve, trusting and unconcerned. “You?”

Steve isn't sure what he's supposed to say. _Oh, hey, I just killed you. Tried to anyway. But the universe was ending and at least we were together, huh?_ He tries to feel any of the anger he'd been feeling then, but there's just... nothing. It's all gone. Just some lingering dread is gnawing at his insides, makes him feel light headed and nauseous. No anger left. And this Tony isn't there yet, hasn't done anything. “Hoped to catch a quiet moment,” he finally says, trying not choke on the words.

Tony looks at him sideways and smiles. It's just a very small upwards quirk of the lips, but it softens his expression, makes him look happy – glad to see Steve. It shouldn't feel so right, shouldn't feel so wrong. He knows he can't trust it and still he just accepts it here and now for what it is and smiles back. For the first time since he stumbled onto Tony out here their eyes meet and Steve know what he must look like: Uneasy and confused and maybe a little scared – happy to see Tony, but unable to trust him or any of this.

The world is still ending. Their fight is still on.

And that's when Tony's smile loses its brilliance, becomes all fragile and uncertain in turn.

He shrugs, because he doesn't know what to say. What is he supposed to explain? It's not like he really understands what happened. Can't have been the time gem. _Must_ have been the time gem anyway. He has no idea how to explain that. It's not like anything makes sense any more. He's here. They are both here.

Alive.

Breathing.

Existing.

And the last thing he remembers before all this is Tony sneering at him and his fists raining blows down on him. But this isn't that Tony. _Can't be._ Not yet.

_Can't let him be._

“Steve?” he asks, growing worry making itself known in the nervous way he tries to search Steve's gaze.

 _I killed you,_ Steve thinks, but it's not true. The world had vanished before that could have happened, before he'd ever been able to. But he isn't voicing the thought. Too many things are rushing through his mind all at once: Carol's happy laughter still ringing in his ears; the world phasing out; Tony sneering up at him, his face bloody and bruised, one cheek horrible swollen and finally not perfect any longer; Tony smiling at him right here right now. Not a traitor yet. Just someone he needs to watch out for, someone he can't trust.

During a fight he makes decisions in split-seconds, his body following a strategy his mind hasn't even processed yet. He doesn't even know he's made a decision now, but he's in Tony's space before the man knows what's going on, his blue eyes going wide and his body going all rigid in surprise. But Steve's lips are on his and it's desperate and messy. Tony makes a strangled sound in the back of his throat and even tries to pull away, before Steve's hands come up to grab him by one arm, the other hand settling on his hip and holding on, not with a punishing grip, but still hard enough to make Tony go still. He pushes, catches Tony against the railing, their bodies touching, Tony's clean scent in his nose, and Steve is kissing him like part of him always wanted to, catching his lips with his own, sure and demanding. It hasn't even occurred to him that through all of it, through their last days, that this is the opportunity he's been mourning.

His body knows though and his mind is too caught up in the whole mess that he's finding himself in that he doesn't even question his own motives. 

He just kisses Tony and holds on, first with close-mouthed desperate intensity, then with passion as Tony tries to say or moan something and he gets the chance to deepen the kiss. It's intoxicating. He can't remember when last he'd felt so alive and full of exhilaration.

But he knows he has to let go. Knows this isn't what happened then – before everything. Can't go on. He needs to pull away. This can't last. This shouldn't even be happening. It's too good. He can't hold on.

And then Tony's hands come up, one tangling in his short hair and pulling him down towards him, desperate for more. All thoughts of pulling away just leave his head instantly. He's hot and his pants feel uncomfortably tight, but he can't stop pushing, doesn't want to lose the contact, doesn't want to go back to the way things turned out before, but Tony is gasping and shuddering against him, smelling fresh and clean and perfect. He pulls away and mumbles: “God, Tony.” There's so much he needs to say, but just _can't_.

“Don't talk,” Tony demands and he's breathing fast. He leans his head against Steve's shoulder, hides his face and just holds on. “Please, Steve, just don't talk now.”

He's fine with that – too many things he doesn't want to voice, too many thing he'd rather forget -, tightening the awkward embrace in turn, looking at the horizon over Tony's damp hair. 

The sky over New York is blue, not red, not white.

He's here. It's real. They're both here.

It's not okay.

But it's _real_. Reality. Intact and not unraveling.

And they're together.

It's here and now and the end is only beginning. Maybe it won't ever come.

Perhaps just for this moment it doesn't matter.

As long as this is real.

* * *

He pulls Tony into his own room, doesn't want to go upstairs to Tony's penthouse and think about the big luxurious bed that's probably waiting there with inviting, clean, expensive sheets; the bed of someone who is rich and handsome and will live up to his playboy reputation in uncomfortable ways the moment his moral barriers fall away. Steve doesn't want to think about that, feels better here pushing Tony down to sit on his own tidy bed, not thinking of anything but what they're doing right now. The future is still a far way off and the present is changing with every kiss he places on Tony's skin, with every touch and breathless sigh.

It feels right to make Tony raise his arms so he can get his shirt off more easily, feels right to stand before him and let him open his pants. Tony looks dazed, like he would do anything Steve asks from him at the moment. _Don't betray me,_ Steve thinks, but doesn't say it out loud. He's not sure he could take the confused or hurt look on Tony's face if he did. 

This moment is precious. The end has no part in it. This is a beginning.

He gives in to his own impulses, decides there is no reason to hold back at this point, makes Tony look up at him and leans down for another kiss, needs to taste and feel and make sure this is happening.

Steve isn't at all surprised to find that Tony is an excellent kisser. He's Tony Stark after all. With every new kiss Tony learns something new about him, learns how Steve likes to be kissed, yearns to be touched. Their tongues slide together. Warm and wet and dirty, but so perfect. It's intoxicating enough for Steve to finally forget about what's to come, what the true future holds for them, what he's been through, what he's seen, what Tony did. Just for now it's all unimportant and he revels in this moment. He wants it - wants _this_. He has never before felt so inclined to just let go and give in to his own desires.

The heat is consuming him.

He pushes Tony down, shucks his own jeans as he crawls after him onto the bed, covering his body with his own.

They don't speak, don't ask questions or whisper nonsensical assurances. Their bodies, their hands and mouths do all the talking as Steve kisses a line up along Tony's now exposed chest and to his jugular, biting the soft skin beneath his ear, and Tony strokes along the sides of his torso, making goosebumps rise up on Steve's skin. Then Tony props himself up a little. Steve feels the urge to push him back down, hold him there, make him watch helplessly as Steve takes his pleasure from him, rocking against him. The image is enough to make heat rise in his cheeks, in his pants, and he nearly rips the rest of Tony's clothes away just thinking it. But Tony isn't trying to get away. Instead he's leaning in for a kiss, deep and enthralling and promising so much more. It's intense, goes directly to his groin. His erection is trapped against Tony's fabric clad legs and he really wants to do something about that, can't take it any more. He _needs_ , _wants_ , doesn't understand why he's never realized before how badly he needs this.

 _They_ need this.

His breath catches in his throat when they come apart and Tony looks like he's been ravaged already. Apparently he wasn't just showing his kissing skills off to Steve, not just seducing or urging on. He's just as caught up in the fire of passion as Steve is. It looks like he's close to losing control and gasps when Steve places the lightest, most reverent touch on him. When Tony looks down between them, biting his lip, as he watches Steve push his naked groin against him desperately, moving grinding, already hard enough to burst, it's nearly enough to undo him. 

His blue eyes light up with fire. “Steve?” he asks, breathless, tongue sneaking out to lick his sinfully red lips, still wet and swollen from all the kissing. Making out is a good look on him, Steve decides. But that doesn't surprise him either. Part of him always knew that would be the case.

His name on Tony's lips is enough of a plea for Steve to push forward, bite the supple bottom lip first softly then _hard_ , feeling rewarded by Tony's surprised sucking in of breath. Even more when Tony throws his head back against the pillow and moans when he pushes a hand against the bulk in his jeans, to touch, stake claim, to finally make him lose control and let Steve have it all.

Captivated he watches as Tony seems to be lost in himself, moving his hips up to push against his hand harder to get more friction, his eyes closed, skin flushed, mouth open. Wanton and beautiful. He's about to open Tony's zipper and get his hands on heated flesh, when Tony pulls him down with one arm, their chests touching, their erections bucking together, making him hiss in surprise. A sure hand reaches between them - _for_ him. He nearly hisses, as the hand grips him, holding him steadily and firmly before moving. He can no longer keep from moving his hips in a matching rhythm, doesn't _need_ to hold back.

But it's still not enough. Tony doesn't protest as he helps him out of his jeans, practically ripping them off and throwing them to the side. His blue eyes are dark with desire and he's panting, quietly watching Steve as he reaches for his nightstand drawer to pull out a condom and some lubricant. He expects a a jibe about his age or about how someone must have corrupted him to get there.

The truth is he doesn't even remember what was going through his younger selves head when at this place in time he'd kept these items in his nightstand. Sex, he thinks, hadn't been exactly at the forefront of his mind then. Always something coming up, always something going to hell, people, countries, worlds to be saved. But he thinks he was happy, wasn't he? Surrounded by friends, Tony at his side, before things fell apart.

But these things are changing, changing right now, as he's bending Tony's legs up, positioning himself, and starts moving. Tony makes a little, slightly distressed sound in the back of his throat, not enough preparation, muscles tight, but his hands come up to grasp at Steve's shoulders, to make him bend down low enough for another kiss.

And Steve obliges, can't deny him - wants it too much himself – and just lets go. Kissing, biting, moving, giving in. His own body sets the pace, as Tony gasps and moans and just takes it.

It's so frantic and hot that he loses track of who is touching whom, just knows that he needs more, wants to be closer, needs Tony, _needs_ , feels hands in his hair, stroking and pulling him closer.

He comes, nearly whines, wanting it to last. The pleasure running through his body is blinding. The world goes white in front of his eyes and for the tiniest fraction of a moment he feels the same panic grip him just like before, thinking this is it now: the world finally ending. But he's here, breathing heavily and smelling of sex and sweat and Tony. He hides his face against his lovers chest, aware that he must be crushing him with his full weight, but unwilling to move. And Tony's hands are still stroking through his hair, down his back, soothingly, calming, loving.

It's only then, listening to the faint heartbeat beneath his ear, the slightly accelerated breathing, that he realizes how silent they've been. That Tony is so focused and quiet during sex is not what he expected at all. The fact is surprising enough for Steve to push himself up now and get a good look at his lover's face to make sure he's okay. Tony's eyes meet his as he moves up, positions himself at his side so that they're facing each other. 

His face is flushed, but he looks calm, eyes shining with a warm glow. He smiles. Happy. Satisfied. Perfect.

The feeling of happiness is so overwhelming that he's surprised by the sudden constricting feeling in his chest that comes along with it. His heart is breaking. Now. Here. Where everything seems perfect and like it's how it should be.

“Steve?” Tony asks and his brows draw up into a worried frown. “Is...?” And that's when Tony finally recognizes something in his eyes. “Oh,” he says. “Oh.”

And suddenly Steve understands, too.

His eyes feel wet, he doesn't want to cry, just wants this fragile moment to go on, not break into a thousand shards and leave him with a broken world again. Strong arms pull him down against Tony's chest and for a while they just cling to each other. Tony even presses a kiss into his hair and doesn't let go.

Steve holds on as if Tony is his lifeline. And maybe that's exactly what this is all about: Somewhere along the line his lifeline snapped and he's been drifting towards the end alone. Alone, betrayed and angry.

Now that his mind is clear, he needs to ask. But it's hard to even find the right words. He sits up and Tony doesn't stop him, just follows him with his eyes, face serious. “How long have you...? How long has... it...? When exactly did you...?”

Tony doesn't move. He's lying propped up against his pillow, watches him calmly, but for the first time with some weariness, guarded. This is who they are now, who they will be. But Tony isn't angry, isn't sneering, not challenging him. He looks a bit tired maybe, like he sometimes looks when there's a problem he can't easily solve. “I have no idea how you got to this point Steve...”

“Time gem,” he says. “I think. It was destroyed, but... I don't know. It was there. Can't explain it.”

The eyes that just minutes before had clouded over with pleasure, looked at him with passion, narrow and Tony nods. “Okay, makes as much sense as anything.”

“How are you...? What's the last thing you remember?” _My hands punching you into the ground with your own armor._

“First time?” Tony asks instead of giving him an answer and he must be looking back at him with an appropriate amount of confusion, because Tony sighs, deep and heavy, and a hand comes up to pinch the back of his nose. Slowly he sits up, his shoulders sagging. He looks defeated now, nothing of the happy glow left now.

Something inside of Steve answers to that. “The world ended. I was about to...” _Kill you_ , he can't say.

Tony nods as if that's all obvious. He's not looking at him, his eyes pinched close and hidden behind his hand. Whatever Steve has to say about what happened, he doesn't need to hear it, Steve realizes with a pang. He was there. He knows.

“Thirty-two times,” Tony says, making it sound like an explanation. Steve thinks that this is the man who betrayed him, but isn't. His mind is reeling trying to make sense of how Tony can be the Tony from then and now all wrapped in one and why Steve would rather be here than anywhere else. Perhaps the world broke around him and part of his mind cracked with it. “Thirty-two times. The world ended thirty-two times. The universe just ceased. All universes.” He makes a small gesture, opening the palm of his hand has he raises is as if he's indicating an explosion. 

Steve stares. “Once,” he says slowly. “It ended once and that was quite enough for me.”

Tony leans forward, hands hiding his face. He's shaking his head.

“Okay,” Steve concedes. He's not sure he should believe anything he hears. Did he just fall into bed with his best friend – or with an amoral monster who would stop at nothing to survive? And does it even matter? Will things just keep going and ending just like before? “It happened more than once for you? Why?”

“I needed more time,” Tony hisses at him with a hint of annoyance but when he looks up he doesn't seem to be angry or annoyed or like he's arrogantly stating a fact that to him is obvious. _Close to the edge_ , Steve thinks. _Broken._ It reminds him of what he'd been feeling arriving back here, in the hallway, snapping back from the end to the here and now, heartbroken and overwhelmed.

“So what?” he asks back and makes no attempt at hiding his returning anger.

“I did this thirty-two times, Steve,” he says and finally looks at him. “And the world ended _every single time_. Whatever I did.” 

They stare at each other. He wants to know how Tony did it, snapping back here to some form of beginning. But too many accusations are on the tip of his tongue, too many things he'd rather not even think about now. He could finish their fight right here and now, before Tony lets Extremis run rampant, before he even starts the cycle of lying to Steve, before the inversion makes it all even worse. But what does it matter now if Steve also knows the truth? The man who met him in that diner, he'd seemed so much like the Tony he once knew, but with sharp unfriendly edges that he couldn't really hide. This man is not that man. How can that be? “The inversion?” he asks, because that's what he really needs to know.

“Hasn't happened yet.”

“Won't happen now,” Steve says and his mouth sets into a thin line. He's staring Tony down hard, letting him know that some part of him is still angry; a part of him will never forgive and forget what has happened. This is not negotiable. But he's already coming back to his feet, realizing that things have already started to change, that maybe he can make a difference.

“Doesn't matter.” Tony doesn't shy away from his piercing gaze, holding his head high as if he's finally back to challenging Steve. “The inversion spell got me twenty-three times. Sixteen times I allowed it to continue till the end.” 

“Why?” he asks, horrified. 

“Because I couldn't see a way to stop this without me being...”

“A monster?”

“Ready to do things that I wasn't ready to do.”

Steve feels himself twitch at the thought and finally Tony looks away. “The world had already ended sixteen times without it.”

Sixteen. Steve tries to imagine that number. Tries to imagine the horror of failing again and again. “There's really no way out.” 

“No,” Tony agrees. "I think I tired them all."

And isn't it strange that _now_ they agree on something.

None of it has happened yet. He's back here in a body that shouldn't be his own any more. Tony is still himself, but he knows what he's capable of doing if he's unleashed. But this time they are together. 

But it's a certainty that the world is going to end. 

They have some months left and then they'll be back there at that moment. Earths colliding. Universes fading into white nothingness.

And maybe that's all there's every going to be.

Tony finally looks at him again, his face pinched and closed off, and says: “This is the final time, Steve. There's nothing left.”

He nods. He shouldn't feel glad about it.

A few months left, more than a year. And this time he knows how he wants it to end. 

He reaches out and Tony nearly winces, expects anything but the soft touch to his jaw, anything but the searing hot kiss Steve presses to his lips.

* * *

The first time the end of the world came around, he'd been a man betrayed. Like everybody else he'd been afraid of the end, but even more than that he'd been full of anger. It had been his driving force and he'd let it run free, because nothing mattered any more.

The second time the end of the world comes around everything is different. It's painful to be so irrevocably aware that everything is coming to an end. They are not through fighting back, helping Reed and the others to develop their little life pod, their last little beacon of hope. 

This time there is no argument about who should be on it. Nobody knows that another Tony in another timeline should not have been here.

But in the end when the time comes around again neither of them are there just like before.

He walks slowly out onto the Avengers Tower terrace and finds Tony right where he found him that time when he'd been thrown back in time, not getting a chance at saving the world, but getting a chance to make a better end for himself. Tony is watching the city, just like he had back then. “Hey,” he says, leaning in the doorway, hands in his pockets.

Tony whirls around, startled. “You should be...”

He shakes his head. “I should be right here. With you.”

Distress passes over Tony's face, sorrow, anger, helplessness. Love.

It's so different from the anger and the sneering, the hurtful words, the attacks, the insults. 

“Last time,” Tony says and sniffs. His hands are shaking and Steve feels his own heart grow heavy. Another twenty minutes and then that's it. For days he'd been determined not to let his own distress show, but now he just can't stop it. There's no need to hide it any longer. Steve's a soldier who is losing his final battle to save the world and Tony's a futurist who has run out of a future to look forward to. They've been leaning on each other to get to this point without losing it before the big finale.

But this is the end of the line. There's nothing left to do. Nothing left to fight.

With quick strides he walks over, wraps Tony in his arms. Tony presses himself against him and buries his face in his neck. Steve feels his own eyes grow wet, but he doesn't give in to this despair. Not yet. They still have a bit of time left and he's going to cherish their last minutes. He won't let this slip away again, raging against fate.

“Let's go upstairs,” he whispers and ushers Tony along. 

They take the elevator upstairs, holding each other. It's too painful to even speak, so they don't. There are no words left that would really count.

They end up on Tony's big luxurious sofa and it's minutes away now. They can see the city through the impressive floor-to-ceiling windows and the incursion is coloring the sky an awful, unearthly light red color. Steve can feel himself shaking. His own inability to stop this is killing him. Nobody prepared him for what it would be like to just wait for death, an end. Tony's voice is nearly faltering as he whispers: “It's going to be okay. It's... just going to stop.”

But that's not okay. Both of them were never good at standing still, at stopping.

“We're together,” Steve whispers back. Minutes now and his stomach is turning with dread. But Tony is clinging to him and they kiss. They stop watching the world go down, allow themselves this final mercy, clinging to each other, kissing touching, hands on skin.

This is how they started. This is how it ends. This is how it always should have been.

And everything ends.


End file.
